fic: Trial By Fire (1/4)

[bonnefois]

Title: Trial By Fire (1)
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling, ensemble, Administrator, Saxton Hale,
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 3795
Summary: When the mercenary group is suddenly attacked at night by Gray Mann while taking refuge in an old base, Miss Pauling barely escapes the flames with Scout. Soon after she's hit with the realization that this was no accident: there's a traitor in Teufort. With time running out, Gray Mann's armies quickly closing in and everyone a possible suspect, she and Scout try to flush out the mole before everything is lost.
Author's note: The base is a mix of Well and 2Fort. Done for robotbigbang 2014. Contains character death and canon-typical violence.

This was outlined before any of ROF aired or was even announced, so any similarities or divergences with that plot are a coincidence.

A big thanks to Multiversecafe and Hazmad for betaing, offering moral support, and in Multiversecafe's case, doing the art for the big bang.


*

They came to the abandoned base at dark, stooped, weary and barely standing. Even with the many chemical enhancements Medic had pioneered throughout the years, even with the Respawn system to make new all their scarred skin and wounds, the war had The last defense had lasted hours, and while the museum had been saved, it was only because Gray Mann had decided to send his forces elsewhere. The small group was made only of the nine mercenaries, herself, and a few tech agents to help run the base. It was a skeleton team, one that put too much stress on both the people behind the scenes and the mercenaries, but it was all they could spare.

They didn't even have an Administrator with them to oversee any skirmishes. Locked in her secret base, she was attending to something else. Something that would end the war, Miss Pauling was sure, though not even she had enough clearance to find out what her boss was up to.

She fumbled open rusted gates, her hands clumsy with fatigue. She mentally repeated the numbers in her head as she inputted them in the locks. It took three tries, the numbers slipped, blended together into green and black.

The machines had kept relentlessly coming, and even the most animated of the team were looking worn down. She hadn't heard Scout say a single thing for hours.

There hadn't been a reading of foreign technological matter on the radar, which was the only good news of what had happened that day.

It took several moments to get the generators fired up. Rust had started to settle in, and if they were going to stay any longer, there'd have to be quite a few repairs, but for the night...it would do.

She held the lantern as Engineer pushed his welding mask down. The lantern swung, leaving trails of light across the walls. A scrape, a creeping creak of metal. She looked up past the shadows to see the screens flicker to life.

On the horizon in the screens, she saw the reflection of metal, doors opening. Hordes of robots streamed out from the doors, marching towards the base.

A ear-piercing sound like a shriek, and the crackle of static came over the every screen. She dropped the lantern, glass shattering and light flickering off as she reached for the rusted microphone. In lieu of a higher ranked official, she had defaulted to status of temporary Administrator.

"The base is under attack. I repeat, the base is under attack. All men to station...over."

She didn't sound imposing enough to even pretend to fill the shoes of the Administrator at a costume party. She cleared her throat and tried again in her most imposing voice.

"Don't you dare fail me," she said.

The screens clouded over. Out from the smoke came more robots than they had ever faced before. She gripped the microphone and tried to find something to say. Administrator could bend anyone to her will with words and a glare alone. Over the gunfire and hopeless battle, she yelled commands. With each passing second, even as the horde overwhelmed them, it became easier.

Fake it until you make it had been her motto as she put the bodies away, as she learned the hard workload and watched herself disappear into a girl with a heart of steel.

This was just another step along the way.

But for all their effort, all her words, the battle might as well have been lost before it even started. There were limited supplies, barely a working Respawn, and the men were already weary. Despite the upgrades Engineer and Medic had done, they were flesh and bone fighting against metal which did not feel, didn't need nourishment or rest.

Gray Mann must have simply been toying with them, luring them into the illusion that he had retired for the night, only to round them up in this base largely made of wood, sending nothing by Pyro robots of increasing size. The sprinkler system had long ago gone offline, with pipes rusted shut.

The chair was bolted to the floor. The glass swept up to a corner, broom abandoned against the wall. All she had on her was a little revolver, not even enough to take out the weakest of the robots. There seemed no data of note to be stolen.

"Go on ahead," she said absently. From the lower corner window, she could see the farthest right entrance was already consumed in flames.

The assistant nearest her was an older man, who had lasted a long time, longer than most workers under this company ever did. He must be was too useful to be simply buried away like so many of the assistants and workers through the years.

Gray lined his temples. His eyes were darker than his hair, and full of what---knowledge? Worry?
By the time she hit double digits of people she'd had to kill, she stopped remembering names.

"But, Miss Pauling, you'll—" He said.

"I'll be okay," she said with more confidence than she actually felt. "Just go. Get the rest of the assistants out."

The assistant nodded. "I'll salvage what I can of the tech."

"Don't bother; it's better to let some secrets burn to the ground."

He left with some reluctance, and a passing glance behind him. She didn't linger, or think of the children he might leave behind if he perished in the blaze. Sweat matted her hair to her face. Still, she methodically deleted every fragment, and pulled the last of the paper files from their fireproof storage units.

The fire worked rapidly on the dry, old wood of the fort. This was why it'd been abandoned in the first place, this was why so many other bases had been turned to less flammable options. She'd chosen it above the other choices because it was obscure enough to give them shelter without the chance of interruption, or so she had assumed. More screens showed nothing but rooms consumed by fire.

She wouldn't have to worry about the computers; they wouldn't survive this heat, but the papers were stored in heat-proof filing cabinets that were strong enough to survive a bomb going off beside them.

She heard a crash, the sound of a gun firing once, twice. The clatter of shells, the slamming of something hard against the wall. She pulled out her weapon, minuscule as it was. She couldn't even take out a Scout robot with this, but she wouldn't go down without a fight.

Had she even tried to fire, she would've missed him. He came that fast, blurring the edges as he pushed past flames completely invulnerable for those brief seconds. He had a blanket doused in water over his shoulders, and a gas mask pulled down across his face. At first she'd thought it was Pyro somehow without his suit, but as the figure came closer, he pulled up the mask.

Smoked-stained and smudgy, there were burn marks on his arms. His red shirt was slashed, and riddled with bullet holes. But through it all, he'd come for her.

"Miss Pauling! Come on, come on, we're getting out of here!"

"Quick, help me turn over this filing cabinet," she said.

"But---"

"Hurry!"

Without another word, he gripped the side of the metal cabinet. She ignored the heat clinging to the metal, the heat coming in, the smoke. Together, they overturned and opened each of the five cabinets. Secrets curled from heat. She coughed and bent over, already feeling woozy.

Smoke had already filled the room. A second glance showed it wasn't that he hadn't shut the door, but that the flames were already at their doorstep.

"C'mere," he said hoarsely. He pushed the mask over her face, and wrapped her in the damp blanket. He pulled a can from his bag, and guzzled the BONK until his skin vibrated with energy. She wasn't sure how many he'd downed to get through the blaze, but he wasn't content with one. He guzzled a second can, then scooped her up.

"You can't take another can of Bonk so quickly–"

"I was built to break these rules. Screw can't."

The mask closed over her face, and everything disappeared into a cold, dark gray. She clung tighter around his neck. The world was indiscriminate shapes and blotches, and heat which left her even dizzier.

Outside the main doors was a well, though its proximity and mentions in the old files made her think that it'd been a part of quite a few tortures. She'd never used it, though someone before her surely could have.

She pushed up the mask, and glanced around. In the twilight, the shapes and figures were amorphous blotches, at least until more fire and gunfire lit the night. Stacks of unused coal and gravel crunched under his feet. More robots were coming their way— a whole horde of them. The men must have fallen, or the horde was so large that they had overwhelmed the scant defense.
She tried to reach for her gun, but it was hard to reach under the damp woolen blanket which itched and clung to her skin.

"You better hold on tight, Miss Pauling. Things are about to get pretty bumpy."

He took off at a run from the remains of the base. The smoke was thicker here, enough that she ducked her face back under the cover. The fire, the smoke lessened in the pure dark wool dampness. She clung tight, struggling to breathe. She must have inhaled more smoke than she thought, as her lungs already ached.

He abruptly stopped, jarring enough to almost make Miss Pauling lose her grip.

"Take a deep breath, Miss P! As deep as you can, and hold it!"

The blanket fell away, disappearing into the large, uncovered well.

She had about three second's warning before the icy cold water shocked her system. She almost gasped, letting out what little air she had in her lungs, but she caught herself.

Scout hung on to the rusted ladder tines with one hand. With the other, he kept a hold on her, kept her from drifting away into the depths of a tunnel so deep and dark, she would drown long before she could ever push to the surface. Miss Pauling held on tight, her cheeks bulging with air. She'd never been a particularly good swimmer, a large reason being that she couldn't hold her breath for very long. As her chest burned, she clawed her way to the tines of the ladder, and then, to the surface.

Miss Pauling struggled, floundering for only a moment. A giant Pyro robot with several little ones were turning what remained of the fort into a hellish scene. In a series of beeps and clacks, one of the robots saw her. She caught sight of a blue dot settling near her shoulders, aiming straight for her head. She took another gasping breath before she dove back down, just barely missing being hit.

She remembered his bragging once—I can hold my breath for eight minutes. Her body screamed for air. Every thought drew to desperately clawing at the surface, an option which would bring about certain death.

She held his chin and pulled him close until his mouth closed over hers. It was the sole point of warmth in the bone-chilling cold of the water. Her hair had come undone, and floated about them in dark tendrils. Air bubbles floated up around them, between the seams of their mouths. Despite the nearness of death, which could come with water in their lungs, a single breath taken too soon, she felt a sliver of comfort settle inside her. The world was burning down outside them, but in the dark and cold, she held on tighter and shared a breath, a kiss.

If she pulled back, she'd be breathing in icy water. It was only when the panic overtook her, when the desperate need for another breath left her lungs feeling like little flames had gotten inside her lungs that she broke away and pushed towards the surface.

Numb with cold, with the aftershocks of his lips on hers, she gasped for breath. The fires were a distant glow in the horizon.

"W-we've got to m-move, w-we won't s-survive l-like this," she said. The cold had gotten deep inside her, enough to keep her shuddering, her teeth chattering so much she could barely talk. There was no safety of a base to withdraw to. The night had only grown colder during the time underwater.

She stumbled, her clothes heavy with water, but caught herself before she tripped down. She reached to her thigh holster, only to find it empty.

Like the blanket, it was probably at the bottom of the well.

"Please say you didn't lose your gun in there," she said.

"No problem, I got this," he said.

He opened up his duffle bag. Cans rattled, as he moved his fingers, there was a sound of crunching food wrappers.

Scout tossed her a handgun, and she just barely caught it with cold-numbed fingers. He pulled out a sawed-off shotgun and put two shells in.

An inferno of burning and destroyed buildings lit the night. They slipped out past the skirmish, stealing into every shadow they could find. Each step was another little alert to their presence through the hills of gravel.

"We ain't alone," he said.

She couldn't see them through the haze, but she could hear the working of gears. The buildings here hadn't been completely destroyed. Riddled with bullet holes, but the flames hadn't reached this far. She dragged out a piece of rusted root metal which had fallen off years ago, and laid to rest against the collapsing walls. It wasn't much of a shield, but it would prolong their deaths for a few seconds. She wouldn't die running.

"I got this, you go back further, Miss Pauling," he said.

The horde of robot Pyros was like a walking wall of flame and metal. Scout fired off two shots, quickly reloaded and fired off two more. She fired off an entire clip into the nearest Pyro robot, only to have them glance harmlessly off its shoulders. Any closer and they'd have to retreat. She reloaded, her fingers clumsy and numb. The night filled with the coming army, a futuristic fire and brimstone nightmare.

Scout disappeared between them, quick shots and jumps. He'd caught their attention, but a scream of pain showed he hadn't missed every flame. He disappeared between the robots, didn't rise up.

The shield was too flimsy, she wasn't strong enough to hold back an entire army. Still, she emptied clip after clip into them until she had nothing left. She bent down to scramble for spent shells, rocks, anything to keep them at bay long enough to survive.

Behind her, Miss Pauling heard the growl of a mini-gun revving up. Safety wasn't far, all they had to do was last that much longer.

"Scout! Respawn isn't working here. You've got to get out of there!"

She yelled above the din, yelled until her voice grew hoarse. He rose up from in-between the robots, clothes blacked and bloodied. He wiped the blood from his mouth. He took a running leap, a graceful arc across the robots. He landed near her, and grabbed her hand, pulling her away from the rain of bullets. They landed in the gravel together, with scraped knees and bloodied cheeks. Burns covered his leg and chest, the material turned black and frayed apart.

Even as he cringed with pain, he gripped her wrist and pulled her farther away from the battlefield.

"Come on, Miss Pauling. We're almost there. The cavalry is here," Scout said. His voice hoarse with smoke. He coughed hard enough that blood stained his bandages.

"We're almost there," she said.

Pushing past his pain, he helped her up and they limped closer to the camp. The mini-gun, and Heavy roared on behind them. His laughter, and the Medic with him filled the night.

Into the winding gravel road, she caught sight of the rest, with a few orderlies. Sniper aimed through the dark to hit the stragglers that escaped the wall of Medic and Heavy. Larger explosions filled the night; Soldier and Demoman had joined the fray.

"Get his leg looked at," she said.

"Medic is still fightin'," Engineer said.

"We've got salve to spare," she said.

A blanket was thrown about her shoulders before she could even say a word. She turned around to see Scout trying to smile through the pain.

"Don't worry about me, I'll take it like a real champ," he said.

"You're goin' to be chilled to the bone wanderin' around like that. We were beginin' to think Scout here couldn't find you," Engineer said.

"Like hell we were, as long as I'm alive, Miss Pauling is goin' to be just fine," Scout said. He was too tired to even go on much more. His bragging was halfhearted.

The rest of the men returned, too tired to be triumphant. Medic healed them up with new scars, all save her. Salve was all she her body could stand. For once, she didn't drive, and she didn't give orders. The older assistant gave the instructions, and she sat in the back, too tired to sleep, too tired to think. The blanket wrapped about her was thin, scratchy, a little protection against the chill of the night wind. He was asleep on her shoulder, seemingly unaffected by the cold. Maybe all his posturing about Boston winters wasn't hyperbole at all, if he could fall asleep after sinking into that well.

Or the Bonk had gotten to him. It wouldn't be the first time he'd faced unpleasant side effects from the drink.

It was miles to the next base, which for all they knew, might be overrun. The fire of the lost base was a bright star in the horizon, a marker of another battle they'd lost. She blipped out in fits and stages of blankness. Her thoughts slowed, often going backwards to darkness and fear and the feel of Scout's lips on hers. She shifted to watch him sleep against her, full of an unknown gratitude that he hadn't fallen.

*


Bases pitted the landscape, from Egypt to Hong Kong and back to New Mexico. A few hours away there was another, newer and more high tech base. Nestled between mountains, it was far more difficult to launch a frontal assault at. More importantly, it wasn't made of such flammable material.

Engineer and some orderlies took over starting up the mainframe and power source. She went towards her office and flipped on the light.

Most of the other men had already turned in for what was left of the night. She stayed up, working out the last security passes. Her office was small and metallic, spare and adequate. Before she could relax, she checked for signs of intruders. A lack of decoration meant less places for hidden devices. She preferred it that way, with only her guns and necessities nearby.

When Miss Pauling was sure that the room was safe, she sat down and started at her task again.
She was interrupted by the sound of the door opening without her permission, or access code. Someone else had high enough classification to enter.

She waited out the seconds, to see if it would be Administrator, assistant, or something else to come out of the shadows.

It was Spy who entered. She hadn't thought he'd had enough clearance to enter without requesting entry numbers, but he was always finding these little things. It was hard to keep anything hidden from him and his capricious nature. If he wasn't such so skilled at his job, she probably would've had to have fired him and buried his body in some cavern ages ago.

Though, she could say that about all the mercenaries, truth be told.

He was dressed like a civilian, in a darker, and far less expensive suit than she'd ever seen him in, but she'd gotten used to his costumes. He handed her the a small manilla folder with no explanation.

She squinted as she saw the poor photos taken in too dark places. A group of robots, yes, she'd seen this factory before. A close up on the serial numbers, green lettering....Nothing seemed out of order, until she saw the date.

Twelve hours ago. It would've only been hours after their coordinates had been changed. Fatigue, numbness and cold made the thoughts come slow. This base had been abandoned, wiped from most of the archives but the highest classification. Anyone on lower levels thought it nothing more than ruins, and certainly no place the group would take refuge in.

"This is...."

"They aren't what you're looking for. They're what you need, nonetheless. Have you figured it out yet, Miss Pauling?" Spy said.

"Yes, though I wish I'd read it wrong," she said.

"There's a traitor," Spy said.

His words hung in the air, like a death sentence. She looked up from the pictures, and looked at him anew. When had he changed, when had he gotten enough time to find this out? Asking would be useless. Even she didn't know his real identity, let alone how he managed to get his data.

She pushed back in her chair as she collected the papers.

"Thank you for your service. I'll add it to your billable hours by tomorrow," she said.

As she moved, she kept him in the corner of her eye. Best never to keep your back turned with a Spy nearby.

She couldn't trust him. She couldn't trust anyone.